


Man On A Wire

by thorvaenn



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Assassins & Hitmen, Crimes & Criminals, Escape, Family Reunions, Forced Prostitution, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rescue, Spies & Secret Agents, Underage Prostitution, the prostitution is brief and off screen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorvaenn/pseuds/thorvaenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor Odinson knows who he is and he has few regrets. The one that he has wasn't even his fault, but now he's ready to fix it anyway.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Even from the distance, those three days of Thor's failure are written all over his target.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This should be a 1+3 series, consisting of a short prologue and three longer parts.
> 
> As always, read the tags. There will be violence and killings, as well as exploitation (by third parties) and later incest.
> 
> I will post the first part very soon after the prologue, but if you happen to enjoy the prologue, please comment anyway and don't leave me hanging <3 I really thrive on your feedback, thank you.

__**Like a man on a wire  
I set myself on fire  
Destroyer of a dream  
Trying to find a spark  
Desperate for love **

 

_**Garbage, Man On a Wire** _

 

 

Thor's drink sits in front of him on the table, untouched. The ice in it is melting rapidly in the heat of the club. He doesn't need to drink it, there's already a burning deep in his belly; anger.

 

It would be unwise to ignite it further.

 

He watches his target through the dark haze of the club, only the years of experience he has allowing him to unfailingly map all of his movements despite the noise, smoke, flashing lights and constantly moving bodies.

 

He's three days late.

 

His intel was sound, but not only was he on the other side of the globe when the tip came, but it was also already too late by the time the assigned agent noticed.

 

Unpredictable circumstances.

 

Thor knew the name of that particular  _unpredictable circumstance_ . He was rather hoping he would get to share his displeasure with him tonight.

 

Even from the distance, those three days of Thor's failure are written all over his target. It's not just the badly concealed black eye, it's the ramrod straight posture, the skittish movements. Most teenage boys don't sit or stand like that, not unless their ribs are bruised or they're scared out of their minds, trying and failing to keep in control of the situation.

 

The man leaning into him, hand on his waist, doesn't seem to be bothered by any of it. And why would he be? He'll ask for a discount. If he doesn't get it, he will give him a bruise to match.

 

Thor waits, not shying from watching as much as he can without arousing suspicion. He takes it all in, the sweaty fingers sliding underneath his target's short crop top, the leering gaze that keeps slipping over the tight shorts.

 

Thor considers his target with as much detachment as he can muster. His legs are mile long, white and coltish. Definitely attractive; an asset to show off. The crop top is saying that he is very available, displaying flat belly and sharp hipbones.

 

Today is Sunday and Thor is certain that his target has worked the entire weekend, looking like this. Thor's hands curl into fists.

 

_Fuck_ .

 

He wishes now that he'd gone against Odin's orders when it still mattered.

 

Across the room, the groping is escalating. They will seal the deal any moment now, Thor is sure of it, and then he will finally be able to take action. He needs to spot the handler before he makes his move.

 

Finally they rise and start weaving through the crowd, the john's hand possessively wrapped around Thor's target's waist. Thor stops watching them even though it makes his stomach churn briefly, which he immediately suppresses. He's no amateur. He won't lose them.

 

They go towards the back and Thor scans the room. Come on,  _come on_ . 

 

And there he is. Not even subtle. A tall man, black hair like his target's, though cropped short, rises from the bar and starts following them.

 

Thor snatches up his drink and sloshes half of it into his mouth, the other half all over the front of his shirt.

 

He goes after them, slowly, his gait unsteady, shoulders hunched forward.

 

There's a large exit door at the back, unguarded. Beyond it is a maze of corridors and rooms. The whole place still carries over some of the atmosphere of the club, an attempt has been made to make it look just as flashy and suggestive, but everything is a little rough around the edges.

 

At the end of the first hall, he finds the three of them. His target stands a pace or two away from his handler and his john, watching with blank expression as money changes hands.

 

Thor wolf whistles and then laughs, pushing himself off the wall as to not stumble into it.

 

“Wow,” he slurs loudly, approaching. “Fuck, I just needed to take a piss and this is what I find. What's your name, doll?”

 

He's surprised to see who the handler is. It's the younger one, Byleistr. Thor's not happy about that.

 

Meanwhile, the customer puffs up, indignant. Oh yeah, he definitely has a temper. Thor is very glad he's going to cut his evening short.

 

“Fuck off. He's taken.”

 

Thor starts fumbling, reaching into his pockets, and lets several hundreds fly to the floor. “Oopsie. Is he, really?”

 

“Wait in line,” Byleistr tells Thor. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his target flinch; his first visible reaction since Thor got close.

 

“I don't wait,” Thor snorts. “I'm paying, so-”

 

“So am I, asshole,” the customer spits, but he's not the one Thor needs to convince. He cocks his head at Byleistr, more bank notes twirling between his fingers.

 

“Come on, man.”

 

He must have miscalculated something. He was certain that the money and the drunk, pushy act would do the trick.

 

Instead he finds a gun aimed at his chest.

 

Thor reassess the situation.

 

He was ready for the older one, for Helblindi. This younger one is an unknown. Sweat is beading on his forehead and his grip on the gun is shaky, but the safety is off and at this range, it would be hard to miss.

 

“Oh fuck this shit, fuck you all,” the john murmurs and starts retreating down the hallway. Thor doesn't have any time to waste.

 

Thor gets to it. The movement is like second nature to him – the push, the grab, the muscles of his arms straining even though it's over within the second, pushed to their limit by the shocking speed of his motion. Byleistr stumbles back, cradling his hand to his chest. Thor probably broke some of his fingers. He disarmed Byleistr in the blink of an eye.

 

He has the gun and it's time to make a choice.

 

His target – Loki – is flattened to the wall, mouth open in a scream.

 

He barely needs to glance down the hallway before pointing the gun sideways and catching the would-be customer right in the back of the head.

 

Regrettable.

 

He swivels the gun back around and aims it at Byleistr.

 

“No, _please_ -” It's not him beginning. He looks too shocked to form words. It's Loki who is asking for his brother's life.

 

“Sorry, kid.”

 

Thor pulls the trigger.

 


	2. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the feedback on the prologue, you're the best! As promised, the first part is here. Hope you enjoy <3

“Rough night?”

 

Thor shrugs, stoic in the face of Natasha's smirk. “It got a bit messy.”

 

Of course, she already knows that. When she's in the city – any city, really – there's very little happening there that escapes her notice. And Thor did kill two men last night.

 

“We left it messy,” she tells him. “Just a deal gone wrong. It shouldn't muddy the waters too much.”

 

No, it shouldn't. Thor has to wonder about Helblindi though. One brother dead, another gone. His gut tells him that he might not let it go so easily.

 

Natasha hands over some necessities and then leaves. Thor rummages through what she brought, taking stock of everything, and then he's left standing in the hallway of a beautiful penthouse. Outside, the sky is dark with clouds and heavy rain is pelting at the ceiling-high windows. Thor is used to all kinds of accommodations but he has to admit that the living room here – a room larger than life, half round and with completely open view, is something of a treat. He loves the height and he loves the view of the sky.

 

Beyond, there is a bedroom. In a fit of what he assumes is designer extravaganza, the bedroom is dark save for a ceiling window, all done in shades of dark purple and magenta, every surface plush and inviting one to sink into it, the bed most of all. It looks like a little burst of decadent darkness compared to the ashy and white tones of the bright living room.

 

Thor knows this because he's been sitting in an armchair, the sounds of rain soothing his mood, and staring across the room and into the smaller bedroom, waiting.

 

Last night, he had to drug Loki to get him out of the club and to the safe spot. To say he reacted badly to Thor killing his brother right in front of him would be an understatement.

 

Originally, Thor had hoped to simply drag him out of there, quieting him down with a threat or two, or perhaps a hand over his mouth, but the struggle Loki put up was quickly getting out of hand. He could see Loki becoming overcome with hysteria, brought on not only by the kill, but probably also by everything that had to have happened to him in the previous days. Thor could have overpowered him, of course, but probably not without hurting him.

 

He didn't want that, so he reached into his inner pocket to grab his little failsafe, an epipen-like contraption, and shot the sedative to Loki's neck.

 

He should be waking up soon and for the first time in what feels like forever, Thor is getting a bit nervous.

 

It's understandable. This is a job like no other – it's not even really a  _job_ , he only approached it that way because that's the only way he knows. No, this is personal. This is sorting out his father's mess.

 

And opening a chapter in his own life that he's not sure he's quite ready for.

 

He hears the covers rustling briefly and then some sort of a thunk. He makes himself sit and wait.

 

A short while later, Loki peeks out from the bedroom and stops short when he spots Thor, eyes widening. They watch each other for long seconds.

 

Loki's feet and legs are bare and he tiptoed out of the bedroom so soundlessly that it came as a brief surprise to Thor when he finally appeared. He's still in his outfit from last night, the obscenely tiny shorts and a crop top. In this light, Thor can see that the shorts are dark blue, made of cotton and stretched so precariously that they barely hide anything. The crop top looks to be cut quite clumsily from a regular tank top with some kind of a cartoon picture on it.

 

Helblindi and Byleistr didn't put much effort into dolling Loki up, that much is obvious. Then again, they didn't need to. He's still heart-stopping.

 

Even though his eyes are red and bloodshot, his hair a complete mess, and there are coppery smears on his cheek from where a spray of Byleistr's blood hit him.

 

His eyes dart around the room before settling back on Thor. He licks his lips.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“My name's Thor Odinson.”

 

He watches carefully for any sign of recognition, but Loki's face remains tensely blank.

 

“Why did you-” Loki forces out, halting. “Why did you kill him?”

 

“He pulled a gun on me,” Thor replies calmly. “For future reference, that's not the best of ideas.”

 

“That other guy didn't.”

 

Thor raises his eyebrows, secretly a little impressed. “Are you gonna lose any sleep over a piece of shit like that?”

 

Loki grimaces as if only just now remembering everything that transpired before. Thor presses on; perhaps it's not the smartest move, but the words won't be held back.

 

“Did he like you in that outfit?” he nods at Loki with his chin. “You look like somebody stuffed you into the clothes of a five year old.”

 

“Shut up,” Loki spits back at him, crossing his arms over his chest and curling in on himself. His face is red in embarrassment, two red splotches on his cheek contrasting against his greenish paleness.

 

Thor exhales and looks away. He needs to calm down. Things have already gone wrong, he shouldn't be mucking them up further.

 

“There's the bathroom.” He jerks his head towards the correct door. “Go get cleaned up. Toss the clothes.”

 

He finds, when Loki carefully edges towards the bathroom and then locks himself in, that his heart is beating wildly.

 

This is harder than he expected. He has no idea what Loki is thinking – he can only guess the basics. Scared. Horrified. Wanting to get to safety.

 

But he  _is_ safe now. That's why Thor is here. Doing what his father should have done years ago.

 

He gets up and walks to the glass paned wall, trying to shake off the nervous energy from his limbs. He rehashes the plan for the next couple of days and weeks in his mind, which calms him a bit. The rain is stopping and the sky begins to lighten on the horizon, the dull gray giving way to very tentative streaks of sunlight.

 

Tomorrow, he will meet a contact that will create Loki's new documentation. And Thor's, too. A meeting with some of the higher-ups will probably be necessary. This whole plan was in place since he joined the organization, but he knows those slimy bastards. Odin's son or no, they will try to squeeze something extra from the arrangement, he's sure. He will shut that down, or, at worst, negotiate something acceptable.

 

Those steps are easy. It's the daily bread for a man of his profession. Covert meetings. Secret briefs. Waiting. Taking on a new identity. But it's the stuff between, in the cracks, that gets to him.

 

For the first time in a very long while, he won't be alone. He will need to debrief Loki and the idea makes him huff quietly to himself.

 

The worst part of S.H.I.E.L.D. being closely involved in all this is that he knows he has a very limited time window before they will insist he takes on a mission. If he doesn't get a grip on the situation before that happens, he will endanger himself, Loki and everyone who might come close to the task at hand.

 

He shuts down his worries and focuses on the present.

 

Or at least he tries, turning back to the room in a burst of energy before pausing and realizing he doesn't quite know what he should be doing.

 

Helpfully, his stomach reminds him.

 

Yes. Food.

 

Loki is probably feeling the aftereffects of the sedative and eating will help with that. There's a slim laptop sitting on the coffee table and he flips it open. It's heavily protected and he feels a little funny using that much encryption for a simple waffle order, but that's just the way it goes. The tiniest detail can give an operative away. He's reasonably sure nobody is after him – after them – but it never hurts to be careful.

 

When the order is placed, he goes to the door and picks up the in-building phone, informing the reception and asking the bellman to take it over from the delivery.

 

He's killed at least five people while wearing a pizza house hat. He knows what he's about.

 

The bathroom door clicks open and Thor turns. Loki emerges, wrapped in an enormous fluffy white bathrobe. His wet hair is combed back, giving Thor the first totally unobstructed look at his face. He's freshly scrubbed and still pale with blotchy red cheeks, but his feature are delicate and handsome, with a straight nose, an eyebrow arch that is familiar to Thor and bright green eyes.

 

“Sit down,” he tells Loki after a pause in which they consider each other again. “I ordered breakfast.”

 

Loki slinks to one of the sofas and sits, tucking his feet underneath him.

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

Now, that's the question he has been expecting.

 

One would think that meant he has an answer prepared.

 

He opens his mouth, still unsure what he's going to say. Before he has a chance to, the in-house phone rings. Seems he's literally saved by the bell – and waffles – for the time being.

 

Loki eats, cautiously at first, ravenously soon enough, sliding down from the sofa to sit on the door cross legged, taking from the many breakfast containers that Thor has spread on the coffee table. Thor pops a few pieces to his own mouth as well, just to give himself something other to do than stare. Without the skimpy clothing and with his hair clean, Loki oddly enough looks older.

 

Or perhaps it's not about age. Rather he just looks normal. Like any boy. A very pretty one, and still sporting a bruised eye, but normal nonetheless.

 

He can pinpoint the moment when the worst of Loki's hunger and nausea is settled and he remembers where he is. He wipes his mouth and looks at Thor, face twitching as he fights to control his expression. He settles on a cold look.

 

“Thanks for the food. I'm going to leave now.”

 

Thor's lips quirk into a smile, he can't help it. He likes his spirit. It was very inconvenient last night, with the fight he put up, but now that Thor has things under control, it's endearing.

 

“You're not going anywhere. Forget your old life.”

 

“Forget- what the shit? Are you actually crazy?”

 

“Oh? Am I crazy? So it's been all fun and games at home with your brothers since Laufey died?”

 

Loki jerks back as though slapped. Thor sighs, slightly ashamed in the face of pale wide eyes staring at him. Thor should really lay off the brother comments. Not only did he kill one of Loki's but-

 

His phone rings.

 

His phone should not be ringing.

 

Nobody should be calling him, the phone is only for emergencies. He pulls it from the pocket of his jeans and accepts immediately.

 

“Get out of there.” It's Natasha on the other end, her voice clipped. Shit. “You're compromised. Go west.”

 

The line goes dead but Thor is already moving.

 

He has a small bag with a change of clothes tossed on the floor of the living and he goes to Loki, pulling him up by the arm and dragging him there.

 

“Get dressed. Now,” he barks. His clothing will hang on Loki ridiculously, but the bathrobe alone is just not an option.

 

And Loki's old clothes are out of the question. He just won't have that.

 

Beyond that bag with mundane necessities, he needs to grab the laptop and the documents Natasha brought along that morning. Both of these fit easily into a leather messenger bag he has. He only has two guns – the one he took from Byleistr and one of his own. That one he tucks into his belt, hiding it beneath his shirt, the other he turns to toss into the larger bag, except he discovers Loki, still in his bathrobe, staring at the contents.

 

“Fuck, kid, do you want to die?” he yells and strides across the room quickly, yanking the bathrobe off Loki's shoulders and reaching in to find a pair of black dress pants and a red shirt.

 

“I know you have questions, but I'm not trying to hurt you. There are people coming for us, and they probably won't have the same reservations. Pants. Immediately,” he orders, half running to the bathroom. Loki's crop top is in a heap on the floor along with the shorts and he picks it up.

 

Back in the living room, he pushes it into Loki's hands. He needs to fucking check the hallway, not play dress up.

 

“Put this on, and the shirt too. Make it look decent. You have thirty seconds.”

 

That's as long as he can afford to put thought into it.

 

He can't remember the last time Natasha was that brisk when calling him with information. She always knows exactly how much time there is before something goes down, and that phone call? That was bad. If Thor was alone, he would be inclined to take out whoever comes, but with Loki there it's just too dangerous.

 

His phone pings with a text message as he looks from the peephole.

 

_whole team. dont engage, go._

 

“I figured that out, Natasha,” he murmurs. Anyone who could be threat to him would know not to send any fewer than ten men.

 

He turns to Loki, hoping to hell he's ready.

 

And he is. He is just putting on his old red converses – Thor vaguely remembers tugging them off his feet last night when he brought him here. He has the suit pants he is wearing rolled up at the ankles and pulled tightly around the waist with a belt. He has his crop top again, but over it Thor's shirt, wide open with the sleeves folded back. His hair is fluffed up by the sunglasses he found in Thor's bag as well; the bag that he has over his shoulder now.

 

He looks like a hipster who went at it too hard, not a desperate runaway.

 

Perfect.

 

“Come on.”

 

The corridor is empty for now, Natasha's warning giving them ample time to slip out. None of the ways down are safe though. Not the elevators, not the stairs. It only takes Thor a second to make the decision.

 

They are at the last but one floor and he grips Loki's arm, just above the wrist and starts pulling him to the staircase where they quickly jog up to the remaining floor – floor and a half technically, because they pass the doors to the corridor that leads to several more penthouse apartments and go up towards the heavily locked roof door.

 

Thor reaches into his bag and pulls out his _lock pick_.

 

“What the hell is that?”

 

He smirks at Loki's incredulous tone even as he keeps his focus on the task at hand and doesn't reply. It's a very impressive gadget indeed, but it requires light fingers to operate.

 

Soon enough, the two secure locks on the roof exit door are falling open and he pushes at the metal door. It opens with a loud creak that makes him wince. The sound probably resonated several stories down and if someone was already there, they have no time to waste.

 

“What's going on?” Loki demands as they step onto the roof, wind immediately whipping into them. There are huge puddles pooling and they splash loudly as they walk through them.

 

“No time for questions now, sorry. Stick with me and do as I say and you'll live to hear to explanation.”

 

One hand on the gun at his belt, another at Loki's elbow, in case his words didn't quite make it through, Thor navigates the roof to find what he is looking for. At this point, there are two ways down this building, air vents – which he'd rather not – or the scaffold. He can't risk any of the stairs or elevators; the building might be large and the penthouse floors have their own elevators separate from the rest, but he has to assume that every single of those exits is secured.

 

Luck is on their side. Thor thinks it's about time too, considering how last night went. Even as he scans the roof and focuses fully on getting away, he can't help but wonder who it is that's coming after them.

 

It's too neat to be a coincidence. Thor hasn't had a hit – seemingly unprovoked one too – like this on him in... perhaps ever. It's daunting, to feel like the chased rabbit instead of doing the chasing. It has to do something with him taking Loki, but the idea that Helblindi could put something like this together is laughable. It's possible he doesn't even know yet that Byleistr is dead and Loki gone.

 

That, unfortunately, leaves much bigger players in the picture and Thor is not pleased.

 

He tugs Loki to the edge and finally locates a scaffold that is pulled almost all the way to the roof.

 

“How do I know it's not cops coming for me? FBI, whatever?” Loki spits at him as Thor measures the distance between them and the scaffold.

 

“You think you have a SWAT team coming for you because you weren't home for breakfast after a night of child prostitution? Keep on dreaming, kid.”

 

He makes the mistake of glancing at Loki and sees the wide eyed hurt on his face. He looks like he might cry and Thor curses himself.

 

He's not used to this. He's not used to having another person with him in tough situations and the stress of it just made him needlessly cruel.

 

But there's no time for apologies – there was no time for engaging Loki in a reply in the first place.

 

He taps at his wrist watch and the end of a steel wire pops up. He hooks it around the closest air vent and wraps his arm around Loki's waist.

 

“Put your arms around me and hold tight.”

 

The scale down is short, barely two stories, but it's uncomfortable with Loki's trembling frame hanging onto him.

 

“Oh god, oh god, you're crazy,” Loki murmurs over and over as Thor slowly inches them over the edge and they begin sliding down towards the rocky platform beneath them.

 

“Shh,” Thor hisses, jaw straining.

 

A couple of breathless seconds later, his feet hit the floor of the scaffold and he releases the wire, crouching and pulling Loki down with him. He twists around, locating the operation panel and flips the safety switch before pushing one of the buttons, sending the scaffold down. It goes slowly, so fucking slowly, and creaks and swings in the wind a little, but it keeps on going and Thor holds Loki in place almost without a thought. He keeps looking up, ready to return fire should they be found out, but it never happens.

 

It's a little awkward, getting out of the scaffold once it arrives to the ground. The side of the skyscraper they slid down on faces a little square with outdoor cafés where the business people who work in the many offices or shops in the building get their caffeine fixes and they're seen by quite a lot of people.

 

He ignores them but he opts to release his hold on Loki, instead telling him quietly to follow.

 

It's only years and years of training and experience that keep his heart-rate moderately even.

 

They need to get onto the main street and get lost in the crowd. Thor strides with purpose, forcing his expression and posture into an illusion of calm and confidence. It's just a couple of feet now, he can see the people rushing, tourists, workers, everyone. All minding their own business.

 

Half a step behind him, Loki yelps.

 

Thor turns around and a part of him goes cold.

 

There's a man holding Loki, an arm wound around his shoulders, the other pressing a gun into Loki's ribs.

 

Thor doesn't know him.

 

“Odinson,” the man smiles. He's almost as tall as Thor, with ashy blond hair and wide nose. “Are you ready to have your toy taken away?”

 

“You know my name,” Thor says. “That means you should also know that's not going to happen.”

 

“Please take me away,” Loki speaks up. Thor's eyes snap to him, which is a beginner mistake; he should always keep an eye on your opponent. “He's crazy, he killed my brother.”

 

“ _He killed your brother?_ ” the man holding Loki repeats the words with sarcastic shock in his tone and Loki tries to twist around to look at him, earning himself a jab with the barrel of the gun.

 

“My, my,” the man clicks his tongue. “How nasty of you, Odinson, you rid this poor boy of a brother.”

 

He knows, clearly. This man knows why Thor took Loki, but Thor is in the dark. He doesn't know who he is, who is coming after them.

 

He'd like nothing more than to beat it out of him, but he's outnumbered. The team can't be further along after this man.

 

Thor raises his hands, palms out, making a pacifying motion. “Alright, alright-”

 

A burst of shock erupts from his wristwatch and hits the man in the face. He stiffens and his arms drop, then he wavers on his feet and he's about to hit the ground, but at that point Thor has already grabbed Loki and pulled them both onto the busy street.

 

* * *

 

Loki has stayed awake throughout the entire journey, even though they are now about to hit hour ten since they slid into the little compact and started driving. He looks pale, and they both could use something to eat. They had to stop for gas and toilet, and to get some water and Thor did toss some sandwiches onto the counter, but it was hardly enough.

 

He also knows they will need to stop soon. He got no sleep last night and it's getting late and the dark highway is beginning to blur before his eyes.

 

He calls Natasha.

 

“Hey.”

 

“You good?”

 

“Yeah.” Thor glances to the side. “We got out.”

 

“Have everything you need? The documents?”

 

“And cash. No problems so far. Will you...”

 

“Look into it for you? Who do you think I am?”

 

“I'll consider it done.”

 

He smiles as he hangs up, but the warm feeling that comes from knowing his friends have his back doesn't last long.

 

It's time to break the silence.

 

“I loved my father, but he was short-sighted in a lot of things,” he says. He can feel more than see Loki startling and turning to look at him. “He was in the same business as I am, only much higher up. Little field work, all politics and scheming.”

 

“What business is that?” Loki whispers.

 

“The kind that gets shit done. The kind that makes and breaks nations? I don't know. We don't call it anything. But the higher-ups like to spout a lot of bullshit.” Thor sighs. He needs to get this over with. “I grew up somewhat normally, had a normal childhood, if you think that childhood ends when you are twelve anyway. Then it started. Then I learned.

 

“I like to think that I made my own name, but he was always there, in the background, pulling the strings. Except he died a couple of months ago and some of the stuff I learned when he was still alive... well, it became my problem to deal with. And it looks like now that he's dead, there are some people who would like to take advantage. Or get revenge.”

 

It feels oddly good to get it all out, the way he really feels it. Oh, he's talked about Odin, and about his own past a couple of times, but never quite like this. He's being honest, first of all, but even though he's telling this story to Loki on purpose, he wants it to mean more. He wants to really be heard.

 

“You said your name was Thor,” Loki says in a thin voice, interrupting Thor's thought.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I... do I know you? Should I know you?”

 

Thor looks away from the road to squint at Loki. It's hard, illuminated as he is only by the lights on the dashboard and the passing cars.

 

“Do you?”

 

“I don't know. There was a man once, but... that was before my mom was gone.”

 

“Your mom.” Thor's words come out as a sigh. He's getting to the core of it now. “She, uh, knew my dad.”

 

“Oh god, stop,” Loki says, loud all of a sudden. Thor is almost startled. “Oh fuck, I know where this is going.”

 

“And are you upset because you don't believe me or because you know it's the truth?”

 

“I don't want to hear it.”

 

Ah. The latter, then. Thor supposes it's okay to wait for a while. In less than an hour, he will actively start looking for motels otherwise he's going to kill them both when he falls asleep at the wheel.

 

“Okay, alright. We'll talk later. But stick with me, will you? We'll find some place to sleep. And when you're ready, we can talk.”

 

He gets no answer to that.

 

There are fewer and fewer cars on the highway and he concentrates on the tiny red lights in front of him, marking the odd car going in the same direction, and the bright, blinding bulbs of light going in the opposite direction. Mercifully soon, a purple and green billboard pops up, promising accommodation.

 

“There's not much to talk about, is there,” Loki says all of a sudden, picking up from their conversation as though only twenty seconds have passed, not twenty minutes. Thor bites his lip and puts all of his energy into forcing his eyes to focus on his back mirror to see if he can safely pass to the right and take the exit towards the motel. The lights are swimming and hurting his eyes.

 

Just a couple of minutes more, than he can close them.

 

But Loki isn't done.

 

“One brother replacing the other, right?”

 

Thor pulls up at the motel parking lot, carefully going through the motions. Then he flips on the overhead light and turns to Loki.

 

“Yes.” Loki is starkly pale in the bright light. “My father, Odin, is also your father. That's why I came for you as soon as I learned what your- what Helblindi and Byleistr started doing to you.”

 

He gets no reply. Loki simply looks away, seemingly pulling himself away from Thor.

 

“You were always watched. Odin made plans for possible extraction years ago, but for some reason claimed you should be staying with what you thought was your family. I disagreed.”

 

“It was... I was fine when my dad was still alive.” His dad. He means Laufey, of course. Thor listens closely, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He needs this kid to open up to him. He needs them to find an understanding. “Helblindi was an asshole, he always was, and he tried to put dad's business back together, but... it was fine when dad was alive.”

 

“I know,” Thor says quietly. “I'm sorry I didn't get there in time. Trust me, heads will roll for that.”

 

Loki's head snaps up and he stares, open-mouthed. Thor clears his throat. “Not... literally.”

 

“Oh. Good.” Loki wraps his arms around himself, cheeks pink. “But what about that man?”

 

It takes Thor a moment to realize that Loki is referring to their escape from the city. He supposes that to Loki, the only visible threat was when he was briefly held hostage, while Thor has a very real vision of the large hit team that they never saw, but Thor knows was there.

 

“I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I don't know who came after us, but it must be someone with a grudge against Odin.”

 

“Or you.”

 

It's a sharp insight. Thor watches Loki, thinking. In the end, he agrees. Odin is not the only person who cared about Loki, and he's dead now anyway. Could this really be on him? Was someone waiting for him to become vulnerable? To have a soft spot, a way to get to him?

 

He still thinks about it when they enter the surprisingly spacious – an unsurprisingly ugly – motel room.

 

He thinks about it when he puts his gun under his pillow and lies on his side, watching the dark bundle that is his little brother on the bed across from his.

 

Whoever wants to hurt him isn't wrong.

 

He does have a soft spot now.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [thorduna.tumblr.com](http://thorduna.tumblr.com)


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